


Can't Help Falling In Love

by Queeniac



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: M/M, Maylor - Freeform, Mild Hurt/Comfort, My First AO3 Post, Pining, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23085364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queeniac/pseuds/Queeniac
Summary: Deaky is sassy, Brian is pining, Roger is sick and angry, Freddie is himself.
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor
Comments: 17
Kudos: 57





	1. Get It Right The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first post, so I'm kinda nervous! Hope you like it!

Roger slammed the door to his flat. He was so fucking tired of it all. "FUCK!" He heard a muffled, angry protest from a neighbor. "FUCK YOU TOO!" He stormed into the flat's small living room and threw himself face-first into the couch. The day hadn't started well. He had been out the previous night, and woke with a right wanker of a headache. To make matters worse, it was a recording day. He arrived at the studio in a foul mood.

"Morning, Rog," yawned Brian. Deaky simply nodded a hello. Freddie was nowhere in sight. The vocalist was usually late, but Roger was late that day, so Freddie was especially tardy. 

Ten minutes later, Freddie sauntered in the door. "Morning, darlings." Brian and John began to respond, but were interrupted by their irate drummer. 

"Where the hell have you been, Fred? You're wasting valuable recording time!"

"Someone's in a lovely mood," commented Freddie.

John raised his eyebrows. "You arrived ten minutes before Freddie did," he pointed out. Roger glowered at them all, before stalking to the studio drumset and sitting down. 

"Fine. What're we doing today?"

"I thought we could work on the operatic section of my masterpiece," Freddie suggested. "So Roger dear, you'll need to be up at the mic for starters." The blonde threw Freddie a murderous glance, but walked to the mic with no further comments. Brian and Deaky made eye contact, but said nothing. Unconcerned, Freddie assumed his position at the audio console.

Forty-five minutes and approximately thirty-nine thousand galileos later, Roger was done. "I can't sing anymore, Freddie!"

"Just a few more, Rog!"

"NO. We should work on my song for a change."

"What, the car-fucking song?" Brian asked, incredulous. Deaky snorted. Roger strode over to his set, grabbed a drumstick, and threw it at Brian's head. Brian ducked at the last moment.

"It's a metaphor, Brian," Roger ground out. Deaky looked at him disbelievingly. 

"With my hand on your grease gun? Sure, Rog. Very subtle."

Seething, Roger sent the other drumstick flying at Deaky, but he missed. Freddie finally decided to intervene. "All right, children. We'll work on Roger's car song, but we're coming back to mine later. And Roger, stop hurling your sticks. We need our guitarist and bassist intact for the album."   
John rolled his eyes, but both he and Brian got ready to play. Freddie resumed hovering by the audio console, as he didn't need to do anything for this song. Roger retrieved his sticks. 

However, three hours later, Roger exploded once more. “It’s too slow!”  
“I’m trying to slow the fuck down!” Brian exclaimed. 

“It doesn’t need slowing down! It’s- God, it’s creeping at the moment!”

Deaky interceded before Brian could retort. “Roger, you need to take a fucking break or stop starting fights.” Roger gaped in apparent shock at the bassist for a few moments, then out the door he went, a stream of profanities following him.

Freddie sighed. “Well, there’s not much we can do without our drummer. At least we got a few hours of work in.” Catching sight of something, Brian facepalmed. 

“That absolute dumbass left his coat. It’s fucking freezing!”

“It’s bloody well below freezing, actually,” Deaky stated. Brian sighed in disgust and headed for the door, Roger’s coat in hand. 

“I’ll call you once I find him,” he said, and Brian too departed the recording studio. The door slammed shut behind him. John looked at Freddie, and raised his eyebrows. 

“Well, what do you suggest we do now?”

“Not much we can do, darling, not with half the band gone at any rate.”

“Ronnie isn’t expecting me home for another four hours at least…. Wanna go for a pint?”

Freddie grinned. “Why, you’ve read my mind, dear.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Still lying face-down on the couch, Roger was shivering. Forgot my damn coat at the studio, he thought angrily. He had walked the four miles of icy slush to his flat, and he was by no means dressed for the weather. Additionally, he was beginning to suspect his hangover wasn’t the only reason he was feeling shitty, and the freezing walk hadn’t helped. It must be the hangover. Roger Meddows Taylor doesn’t get sick. He didn’t particularly convince himself. 

Meanwhile, Brian had just driven up to a pub Roger tended to frequent. When he walked inside, there was no sign of the blonde. The bartender, a heavy, tattooed woman, said she hadn’t seen him since the previous night. Brian thanked her and drove to Roger’s flat. 

When he arrived, Brian banged on the door before trying the knob and finding it unlocked. He stepped inside, and as a form of greeting yelled, “You ought to lock the door, Rog! People can just waltz in y’know!” He received no response. Frowning, Brian tried again.

He walked through the kitchen, and into the living room, where he saw the blonde drummer passed out on the sofa. As the guitarist went to shake Roger’s shoulder, he felt heat radiating off the small frame. Well, shit, Brian thought. “Rpg, wake up.”

“Hrnngh.”

“Roger.” Brian shook his shoulder, wincing at how hot it was. Roger blearily opened his eyes. Brian noticed they were glassy with fever. 

“Fuck off, Bri,” Roger mumbled. 

“You’re sick, Rog. I’m going to call Freddie and Deaky to let them know where you are, and then I’ll take your temperature.”

“ ‘m not sick,” Roger closed his eyes again. Seconds later, light snores emitted from the drummer. Brian found himself gazing wistfully upon the pretty blonde’s face. Stupid, he scolded himself internally. You’re just friends. And besides, Roger’s straight. No use acting like a lovesick puppy. 

Brian walked over to the telephone, but looking at the clock, he hesitated to dial. Technically, the band’s studio time didn’t end for another two hours, but it was likely Freddie and John had left early, not expecting the other two to return. He dialed the studio’s number anyway. No one picked up. 

Brian sighed and went to find the thermometer in Roger’s bathroom. Five minutes later he emerged victorious, the thermometer in hand. He strode over to the sofa and attempted to rouse the sleeping man on it. “C’mon, love, get up.” He flinched when the word love came out, but thankfully Roger was in no condition to notice. 

“Roger Meddows Taylor, sit your ass up.” Roger struggled to a sitting position, opening his eyes to glare at his tall friend. “Now open your mouth.” Still glaring (as best he could, his eyes kept closing of their own accord), Roger complied. A short while later, Roger heard a sharp intake of breath.

“ ‘s wrong?”  
“Nothing, just a bit of a temperature. 39.38 °C.”

“Hmm,” Roger hummed, drowsy.

“Guess I’m spending the night here.” Roger wasn’t going to fight Brian. He was already drained from sitting up so long. He did, however, retain enough consciousness to protest when Brian suggested he go to bed. 

“ ‘m fine here.”

“Rog, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.” No response from the drummer. “Roger.” Brian swept him into his arms, getting only a groan from the feverish blonde, and carried him to bed. After tucking him in, the guitarist got up to leave Roger in peace, but was stopped by a warm hand on his arm. 

“Stay with me.” Brian’s eyes widened in surprise, but he did as he was told. Roger weakly pulled on his arm. 

“What do you want me to do, Rog?”

“Get in.”

“In bed?! You want me to get in bed with you?” Brian asked incredulously.

“Please, Bri.” Shocked, the curly-haired guitarist slid under the covers, willing his cock to stay down. He’s sick. He doesn't like you. Do not, under any circumstances, get excited. The smaller man snuggled into Brian’s arms and fell asleep. Brian’s heart was racing, but eventually, he too fell asleep, with his best friend in his arms.


	2. an update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just me letting y'all know what's up

Hello friends!

I'm terribly sorry for the wait on the second chapter, but it should be up within the next 2-3 days. I've had time off from school (thanks corona) but due to some personal stuff (depression, homophobic parents, being in the closet, other bs) I haven't really been writing. However, things are slightly more under control now, so I should have the chapter finished and uploaded soon. Additionally, I've written something else I might upload while you guys are waiting. Again, my sincerest apologies for keeping y'all waiting.

I'm also aware this is a stressful time, so if anyone needs to talk, feel free to comment or whatever!

Nanu nanu for now


	3. Somebody to Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a reeeally short chapter, but you guys seem to want more, so here it is. This entire fic has zero plot, but especially this chapter, it's just the boys being cute.   
> TRIGGER WARNING  
> Vomit, there is vomit, emetophobes beware!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second and final chapter. Painfully cheesy, but here you are. On an unrelated note, I just got new earbuds and I was listening to Queen, and the audio is so perfect, like the harmonies.... anyway enjoy the chapter.

Brian woke to the sound of vomiting. He could faintly see Roger leaning over the side of the bed to puke. 

"Roger, we need to get you to the bathroom. D'you think you can walk?" Roger groaned, then threw up some more. Trying to move before more vomit came, Brian maneuvered the smaller man into a sitting position and slung Roger's arm over his shoulder. "On three, we stand. One, two, three!" 

Roger swayed, but managed to remain standing, with Brian's support. He was half-dragged to the bathroom, and made it to the toilet just as a fresh wave of vomit made its way up. Brian murmured soothing nothings, wanting to rub Roger's back, but afraid of his reaction. 

The exhausted blonde solved the physical contact problem, wearily leaning into Brian once he had finished releasing the contents of his stomach.

"You done?"

A small, feeble, "mm-hmm" from Roger.

"Okay, I can help you back to the room if you like?"

"I can walk, 'm not a child." Roger stood and wobbled dangerously, nearly falling flat on his ass. 

"Rog, don't be ridiculous." 

Roger wanted to shout but it came out more as a sigh. "Fucking fine, I guess you can help." He felt somewhat guilty, Brian probably didn't deserve his asshole-ish behavior, but he was too tired and frustrated with being sick to apologize. 

Brian helped Roger stumble back to the bedroom, the younger man's head lolling a bit as they walked. When they reached the bedroom, Brian tripped over his own feet and sent them both sprawling. 

"Shit! Shit, I'm sorry, Rog," he looked over to where Roger had fallen. To his surprise, the other man was laughing.

"You clumsy-ass," Roger wheezed. Brian smiled and went to help the other man up. However, Roger pulled him down until he was sitting next to him. Brian frowned. 

"What-" was all he got out before Roger kissed him.

When they broke apart, Roger said "You've no idea how long I've wanted to do that for."

Brian was in shock. "I-I thought you were straight?! I mean, I like you too, but... and you're sick!"

"Probably why I did it," he admitted, "normally I have a bit more sense."

Two hours later, Roger was sound asleep, but Brian lay awake at his side. Roger liked him back. And they had snogged. He felt on top of the world as he drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaah okay so unrelated but I just accidentally made my girlfriend mad and I'm having a mini panic-attack what if she hates me now... anyways
> 
> Please comment with your thoughts and any criticisms you have! This is the final chapter, but I plan on uploading another fic (utter shit, like all my writing, but whatever) *drunk Rog voice* which I'm really excited about! Thanks for reading loves!

**Author's Note:**

> If you caught any of the references, let me know. PLEASE comment and tell me your thoughts, and kudos if you like. Thanks for reading!


End file.
